A Land That I Heard Of
by ForeverLilacLies
Summary: They took Rick from his home, from his family. Now, he just wanted to get back. Spoilers from 9X05.
1. Chapter 1

How long had it been?

"Alexandria, Alexandria do you copy?" Rick's voice was loud as he moved down the abandoned street, gun in one hand, radio in the other.

How many times had he called out on this radio, breath hitching with each minute that passed with no response? "Alexandria pick up." He tried again, aiming his gun at an approaching walker and firing.

This will be the last time, he always told himself. But it never was. He couldn't stop. He had to keep trying. The range was too far. They wouldn't be able to reach each other, he was being childish. Still, he persisted. Was Michonne even still alive? Or Daryl? How old was Judith now?

How long had it been? Anne had labeled him a B, and he was allowed to heal in relative peace. His wounds had been serious and it had taken a long time for him to gain enough strength to move on his own. Anne had stayed by his side, ever vigilant as if anticipating an attack.

Once Rick had begun to heal, once he began to gain himself back, something about him had caught **_their_** attention. Something that Rick still didn't understand. They marked him as an A and labeled him like cattle. An A tattooed on the back of one shoulder. The people who had healed him offered no name or explanation. Their faces were often obscured. They took him somewhere far from Alexandria in order to heal the worst of his injuries. Then, once they were satisfied he would live, they took him further. The only friendly face he had was Anne and she had begun to grow antsy.

He tried to ask her where they were. What was happening. She told him he couldn't ask questions anymore. That this was to save him. He was brought to a windowless dark room where the only source of light was an eerie red glowing from the ceiling. The red room, Rick had begun to call it. That was where they kept him.

They began their tests. They claimed it was time to see if he would serve them as they required. They brought a walker into his cell and allowed it to bite him. Rick had waited for the fever to strike. Waited to die as he should have on that bridge. It never came.

Immunity.

Somehow, Rick was immune to the bite.

They brought more in. He was immune to the disease but the scars remained imbedded in his flesh, crescent shapes spanning across his shoulders to his thighs, all healed up leaving silvery pink scars in their wake.

It turned out he was at the time, the only test subject to survive. He had eventually pleaded to be let go.

"Please, I want to go home..." He had wept into the cold room with only that red light to answer him. "Please, I don't want to stay..."

It was after nearly two years in, that Anne tried to smuggle him out. He remembered Anne's frantic cries, her desperation to suddenly help him escape. Something about the A label had frightened her. She had managed to smuggle him out of the red room, helping him down the steps when they realized they were being followed. Rick's steps were shaky and uncertain, he was slowing her down. He asked once more where they were and Anne released a shaky breath.

"We are no longer in America." Anne admitted, hair framing her angular face as she turned to study Rick.

"Where are we?" He managed to ask, heart pounding in his chest.

"I am not sure, but we left America behind once we knew you would survive the flight." Anne explained, glancing over her shoulder as if worried they were being watched. Rick's mouth went dry. They were all the way in Europe. How had they made it that far? Part of him wanted to be angry at her, to fly into a rage, but he couldn't. She was the only friend he had here. She was the only good thing he had in this place.

Rick wouldn't make it. They had injected him full of drugs to keep him docile, he knew he would only slow her down. He stopped her on the stairs, legs trembling beneath him and nausea rising in his stomach. "Can't leave without you." Anne reached for Rick's hands, squeezing them.

"You have to! Anne please, they're not gonna kill me if they catch me. You know that. But they'll kill you." He stared at her. His one friend here. The only familiar face. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"I will get help. I will find a pilot. We will leave this place...bring you _home_." Rick's eyes stung and he looked away. They were a continent away from where Rick needed to be. With little to no chance of Anne finding a pilot... "I will find one. There will be someone. There has to be." She sounded hopeful and desperate, teeth gritting together as she took a step away from Rick. It could take years. But she was going to try.

"Find them." Rick pleaded. "T-tell Michonne...tell her." Anne shook her head, eyes wet.

Her calloused hands reached for him, cupping his face. "I will return for you, Rick Grimes." She had promised, thumb stroking down his shaved cheek. "I will bring you home and you can tell them yourself." She leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss against his forehead before releasing him. She disappeared into the night and Rick felt in his heart he would never see her again.

He hoped she had escaped. Hoped that she had not been caught. How long had it been? He was punished viciously for his attempted escape. By the time his legs had healed enough that he could walk again, winter had come and gone.

The experiments continued. It became clear what they were making out of their captives. Human weapons. Humans that they wished to form together to build an army against the still didn't understand much about the labeling, but A's were a rarity. There were three others labeled like him. It was the four of them that rallied the B's and made an escape. It was Rick who had approached the faceless man and killed him, all the while ignoring the man's breathless praise of how much he had learned. How **_good_** of a weapon he had become.

The facility went up in flames. Rick pushed the bay door open, urging the other captives to escape. They ran into the unfamiliar morning light, scattering and weeping. Rick hoped they found their homes. Rick walked away with bruises and scrapes, but once again with his life. His hair had grown out into a disarray of curls lined with silver and premature streaks of white.

Now, with the radio he had snatched from the hands of one of the guards, he tried to call home. He received no answer and in all honesty, he hadn't been expecting one. It was nice to use his voice again, he had forgotten the sound of it.

"Ale-Alexandria, pick up."His voice was reduced to a weak croak, his days were filled with looking over his shoulder and wondering where he was.

It was another several months before he received a response.

"Alexandria Safe Zone, do you copy?"

The radio crackled. **"Alexandria copies, who is this?"** A male voice suddenly spoke up.

Rick couldn't breathe.

 **"Do you copy?"** Came the sharp voice again. Rick brought the radio to his lips.

"Alexandria Safe Zone this is Rick Grimes." Rick spoke, voice trembling. "Do you copy?"

Static followed. Rick held his breath. Another voice suddenly came through and Rick began to sob, legs failing him and he collapsed to the ground, radio in a tight grip. "This is the Alexandria Safe Zone. Do you copy?" Michonne's voice was as clear as if she was standing right next to him. As if she were _there_.

"Mic-Michonne, it's Rick, do you-do-do you...can you hear me?" Rick stuttered, falling over his words. There was a beat of silence.

 **"This is Alexandria on the line, do you copy?** " Her voice was beautiful, wonderful beyond anything Rick had ever heard. A breathless laugh escaped the man.

"Yes! Michonne, it's Rick! I'm here! I can hear you!" He cried out, half laughing, half crying. He hadn't been this hysterical in years. Hadn't allowed himself to be this excited. His voice shook violently and he wanted to tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to apologize.

 **"Alexandria answering, can you hear me?"** She couldn't hear him. She was so close yet so far. Rick had never felt so powerless. He was alive. He just wanted to tell her he was _alive_. He wanted to see Daryl, to see his brother. He needed to see Maggie again and everyone else. He needed his family. Needed to hold his daughter again.

"Michonne, it's Rick. Can you hear me?" He knew she couldn't. He knew it was no use.

 **"Do you copy?"** Michonne's voice crackled over the radio. Rick pressed the radio against his cheek, lip trembling. She spoke again, voice more garbled. **"This is the Alexandria Safe Zone, do you copy?"**

 _ **'Are you there?'**_

 _ **'Can you hear me?'**_

Rick sobbed.

* * *

 **Leaving the location of Rick and A and B situation a little vague until I know more.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Next chapter will probably be after the upcoming episode.**

* * *

The smoke billowed in the distance and Anne could hear frantic voices shouting on the radio. Little snippets and shouts that were chaotic and desperate. Anne knew she was stuck. _They_ were coming. She held her gun close, heart hammering. The propellers and the radio wailed in her ear, but then everything faded away as she approached the riverside, watching the bodies of walkers drift downstream, her eyes darting to something moving. She tuned them all out for the man laying on the edge of the river. Rick turned onto his side, movements weak and sluggish. The helicopter thundered in the distance and Anne knew she had found her golden ticket. She watched him closely, looking over the blood oozing from his side. He would die. She decided. If she didn't do this, he would die. She ignored the cries from the radio, instead focusing on the helicopter.

"I have a B. Not an A, I never had an A." She glanced back to Rick again, swallowing the lump in her throat. "He's hurt but he's strong, can you help him?"

"I warned you there'd be consequences if you tried something." The voice responded, sounding disappointed.

"It's not a trick. Not anymore." She tossed the gun. "I'm trying to save a friend. A friend who saved me. I _have_ something for you now! We have a deal? Do we _have_ a deal!?" She looked from Rick to the helicopter, hoping he would say yes, hoping she could save him. Already, she had a backup plan in mind. She could radio Alexandria, give them Rick's coordinates, allow them to find him if she was about to be killed.

Then the helicopter began to descend.

"You're still here. You're gonna be 're gonna save you." She had assured Rick after he was loaded up and hooked up. Rick had stared at her, uncomprehending and so vulnerable. She was taking him from his home, yet justifying it as what was best for him.

What had she done? She should have known they would catch on. Her last minute decision to label Rick Grimes as a B was in a desperate bid to protect him and save his life. Rick Grimes was no B.

Rick fought.

She knew he would. She knew who he was and that once he gained enough strength as he recovered, he would not simply allow the abuse. They labeled him as an A and suddenly Anne was powerless to protect him. They had brought in the walker and Anne had never been so hysterical in her life. She had run down the corridors, chasing the heels of the lead doctor, pleading with him to reconsider this. To spare her friend. This was a death sentence and she could not face it. _They_ liked having subjects that were recently bit, it gave them more to study, but a limited time to do so before the subject expired and reanimated.

She had seen the lengths these people would go to in order to ensure compliance. Most of the captives fell in line because they realized there was no escape, some resisted and were punished in a never ending cycle until they became husks of themselves. The testing they did on victims was inhumane. The whole premise of the facility was disgusting. The walker had bit into Rick and Anne had sobbed, knees going weak. She hadn't saved him. She had only prolonged the torture.

But Rick never turned.

With what could be considered either wonderful or terrible luck, Rick was immune to the disease. It only ensured he would never be free and Anne knew she had to do knew they were in Europe. But where in Europe she could no longer say. The dead had decimated so much of the old world. She had to get him out of there. She had to make up for what she had done.

Rick was heavily drugged during the night to stop his numerous escape attempts. She had snuck into the holding cells, bypassing the other prisoners. Rick was her only focus, Rick was her end goal. He had followed her with placid docility, slow on realizing where she was leading him, but trusting enough to allow her to hold his arm and guide him. He was too trusting. Still naive despite all the hurt he had seen in the world. She would bring him home. But the were found out and soon security was on their heels. Rick told her to go and she did. Leaving him behind was the most difficult task she had to do, but she ran nonetheless, legs burning and chest heaving by the time she found herself a place to hide.

Then, she began to plan. There were pilots out there, she could find _someone_ wanting to escape back to the other side. With a target now on her back, Anne was forced to lay low and avoid any notice. _They_ were looking for her and were everywhere. She had managed to smuggle items from the facility, medical supplies and equipment that were nearly lost in the world now. Now, she just needed to find a pilot and go back for Rick.

An old contact that had been with her when it all began. He had been a pilot for the Air Force stationed in Germany when the dead began walking. He had been her friend. She knew where he would be hiding out. Knew that he was avoiding **_them_** as well. They were always looking for former military. She found him in an abandoned bunker in what she believed to be Spain. He had seen her approach and lifted a hesitant hand in greeting, fingers curled over his military grade weapon as if uncertain if he would have to use it.

"Brandon, I have a favor." Was the first thing out of her mouth and Brandon laughed, shaking his head.

"Same old Anne, always asking and never giving." He hummed. His dark hair was now lined with silver and a scar ran down his jaw. He ushered her into the bunker, latching the door behind him.

"You still fly?"She asked and Brandon shook his head.

"You're kidding right? World's gone to shit, Anne. Or did you forget whole you were picking berries and braiding hair in that little hippie commune?" So he had heard. Her eyes darted to the state of the art radio system against the wall. She could hear _their_ people as well as others.

"I need to go back. I have a friend I took from his family...I need to bring him back." She explained and Brandon threw himself onto the ratty couch on the opposite wall with a dramatic motion of his arms, dark brown eyes narrowed at her in thought.

"The air ain't safe anymore, Anne. Your old crew has eyes everywhere. They control the skies." He motioned upwards.

"Helicopters are not the same as planes. They wouldn't be able to keep up."

"You want to get back to your commune? Take my advice to sail. They haven't got anything on the water." The water was unpredictable. Their had been attempts to set out by ship, but the communication was terrible on the water.

"The dead could still reach us." She had seen them floating in the water, bobbling around and waiting to sink their rotted teeth into flesh. "And _they_ could see us."

"It's risky wither way, you can get rid of the walkers as long as you have weapons on you when you dock. But if you're seen in the sky, you will be shot down."

"I don't know anyone who sails." She muttered and Brandon shrugged, unconcerned and tired.

"Then you better start looking." He cocked his head at her. "You've been on the run for awhile Anne, are you sure your friend is even alive?"

"He is." She confirmed. "I know he is." He couldn't be dead. He _couldn't_.

He allowed her to stay the night and even allowed her to toy with the radio. "You can probably reach your people no problem with these. The issue with the hand held radios is that you can pick up a signal, but there's no guarantee it will hold. I've managed to reach out to a community in Mexico," He slapped the radio fondly. "Alexandria should be no issue."

"How have they not managed to get your signal." Anne had asked and Brandon had only smiled at her. She had picked up the radio, palms sweating. She knew she would be able to reach Alexandria from here. She knew she would be able to tell them Rick was alive. But she was a coward. She couldn't stand the idea of facing their wrath, even thousands of miles over. She had set the radio down, pushing it out of sight and refused to touch it again.

 _'He'd tell them himself when he returns.'_ She decided, pushing a strand of hair from her face.

When she heard that the facility had gone up in flames, she had known it was Rick. All those people freed, it had to be Rick's doing. Brandon had agreed to help her find him, seemingly pleased to be able to walk out in the open while _they_ were scrambling to regain power. It was now or never. Rick had managed ti topple them and she could use the chaos to sneak him home. She had looked at the smoldering building, so much like the bridge all those years ago and smiled.

"He never does change." She mused softly, her laughter lost in the wind.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Michonne's POV_**

 **Warning(s)** Michonne has some unsavory thoughts about Daryl.

* * *

There was no closure. No body to bury, no walker to put down. It was as if he had vanished in a puff of smoke, like he had never even been there. One minute had had been kissing her and Judith goodbye and the next he was... _gone_. It should have gotten easier. People died everyday. Especially now. Carl's death had been a blow to Michonne's heart, reminiscent of when she had lost Andre. Those had been her boys. Her _children_. Carl had been hers as much as Andre had, she had loved him just as she had loved her first boy.

But Rick's...

Losing Rick had destroyed something in Michonne. Six years later and Rick Grimes's death was still just as fresh as it had been the moment the bridge went up into flames.

She went day by day. She fed the kids, tucked them in at night, brushing her hands through her son's curls that were just like his father's and returning his smile that was all Rick. Having to face Judith and explain to her that her daddy wasn't coming back. For weeks afterwards she would run to the door, waiting for him...eventually she stopped. Michonne wished she could have stopped with her. She still looked.

She still hoped.

Daryl had vanished into the woods, like smoke through their fingers. Once Rick was gone, Daryl had lost whatever ties he had to the community. Michonne wished she could have run to. Wished there were to responsibilities for her back home, but she couldn't run. She could never run. Eventually she had asked that one question that had been nagging at her since she saw her boy consumed in flames.

Why was he out there? Why was Rick put in that position in the first place.

And it was Daryl.

It was _always_ **_Daryl_**. Hatred festered in Michonne's heart, a hatred she knew Rick would not want her to feel but she felt in nonetheless. She wondered if Maggie felt any vindication? Had she not asked hours before what Michonne would have done in her place? Michonne had not ever wanted to think on it. Not her boy. Not him. Yet, here she was, standing at that _fucking_ bridge, watching it burn and wanting to know _**why**_.

It had cost everything. Rick's life, her friendship with Maggie and any goodwill in her heart. When Daryl had done that fucking sad little shuffle of his, head bowed and eyes squinting as he mumbled that he had taken Rick on the bike, he had put him in that position and he had fucking left him. There were no words that could have made it better and Michonne was tired of forgiving people when they messed up. Hadn't his temper cost Glenn his life? Hadn't he learned _anything_? She had thrown herself at him in a blind rage, hailing down punches and curses as Maggie and Jesus fought to drag her away.

 _'YOU DID THIS! IT WAS ALL YOU, DARYL!'_

 _'ARE YOU HAPPY NOW!?'_

 _'DO YOU FEEL VINDICATED NOW, DARYL!?'_

Daryl never set foot back in Alexandria and Michonne was no longer welcome to Hilltop. All the progress they had made and all of Rick's hopes burned with him and that bridge. There was no room for weakness and Michonne had a job to do. She had to tell those who had not witnessed the incident about Rick's death. Tara had wept bitterly, muttering about mother goose and the unfairness of it all. Aaron had still been healing and the news had seemed to stun him. Siddiq had looked out the window, dark eyes suddenly aged.

 _"It's never going to get any easier..."_

Daryl had used Rick's death as an escuse to remain a recluse and maybe she was being too harsh, maybe her grief was blinding her, but the idea of him hiding out in the woods, searching for Rick's body only proved his guilt. He never should have taken him out there. It should have been _him_.

Telling Negan had been...it had taken time. Negan had lost all his composure with Maggie and Michonne had not felt any interest in divulging Rick's death to the man. She could only imagine with scorn he would throw at her. Their earlier discussion would be used against her. He would be bitterly triumphant and sneering over the death of his victor. She had not wanted to see that grin. She avoided him directly after the accident, having Rosita go in her place and the woman had been staunchy silent, reporting anything Negan might have said to Miconne. He did not speak much, seeming to be a shell of himself, with little interest in eating or speaking. Only Rick could have reached him. Only Rick could have brought him back, and as far as Negan was aware, Rick was avoiding him. It took over a week for Michonne to begin delivering his meals again and he watched her like a wounded, cornered animal, eyes dark and stark against his pallid skin. He wanted to ask where Rick was, she knew it. The question was in his eyes. His obsession had not waned.

It took another week for Negan to speak again and as expected, his first words were about Rick. "Rick too good to see me now that I've ben neutered?" Negan had drawled out, voice cracking and weak from disuse. Michonne pushed the plate towards him in silence. For days afterward, Negan would sneer about Rick avoiding him, would cajole at Michonne and it ate at her. He was as guilty as Daryl. Rick had been trying to get back to stop Maggie from killing _him_. Negan grew restless, angry and desperate to see Rick. Te only person he wanted to see. The only person he cared for in some twisted sense.

"He really thinks he can just pretend I do't even fucking exist? Like some hamster he got sick of after the novelty wore off?" Negan gripped at the bars with white knuckles. Michonne had clenched her jaw. If she didn't say it, maybe it din't have to be true. If one person believed he was still alive, maybe he could still be.

But no. If Michonne had to wake up everyday to an empty bed, then Negan did not deserve the luxury of hoping to hear Rick's footsteps.

"Rick's dead, Negan." Michonne had finally admitted, voice cold and detached, waiting for Negan to spit insults and barbs. Instead, he had stared. Silence hung heavily over the prison. Michonne refused to wilt under it, staring at Negan with her shoulders squared and jaw clenched.

"You're lying." She nearly laughed at this. What a disgusting thing to lie about. What a terrible thing to even consider. She watched Negan who stared at her defiantly. He shook his head, laughter bubbling out. "You're such a god damn liar." The laughter had followed her, growing hysterical and echoing off the stone walls. He began to scream for Rick, demanding he come down here. His voice had grown desperate and Michonne had fled up the stairs, Negan's screams following her. The monster was released.

"STOP PLAYING AROUND, RICK!"

She slammed the door behind her, managing to wrench her arm with the force of it.

"I'M NOT FALLING FOR THAT BULLSHIT!"

Her legs shook but she forced herself to keep walking. Keep moving away from that cell. One step in front of the other.

"IT'S NOT FUNNY, PRICK! FUCKING COME DOWN AND FACE ME!"

The sobs followed soon after.

When Judith brought those strangers into their community, wishing to help them, it was as if Carl had spoken through her. It was as if Rick had suggested it. That little girl was smart and not so little anymore. Rick would have been proud. She wished he was here to see it. There was no room for outsiders. Not anymore. They had their own to worry for, but how could she say no? How could she refuse them aid when Judith fixed her with that solemn stare?

Weeks later, she had discovered she was pregnant. Hadn't she and Rick discussed the possibility of having kids? Hadn't this been what he had hoped for? Here she was, alone and pregnant and hurting. He should have been here. RJ had been the one bright in the months that followed Rick's death, the one sign that life went on. Even if Michonne didn't want to. He had forced her to keep moving. Him and Judith as those two constants in her life, proof that there was life. She would fight for her children, both living and dead and she would live for the memory of Rick who had smiled over his shoulder at her as he left that final morning, eyes blue as the sky and smile warm.

She would escort the strangers to Hilltop, offer them aid without giving away too much. They could earn their keep there. It was all she could do. As the kids slept, she continued working. Eugene's radio project was his latest interest and she had agreed to help him with it when she had time to spare. It was mostly silent, unable to pick up any range of contact. At one point someone had gotten through, but their voice was too muffled and staticky to be of any use. It seemed like a fool's job, but it kept Eugene occupied.

Life was continuing and growing. Perhaps not in the way Rick had envisioned, but Alexandria would survive. Alexandria would not fall. She would not allow it. She would keep the prisoner fed, she would keep Judith and RJ safe and she would continue leading her people, and she would leave that space in the bed, empty and waiting for a body who would never fill it again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Some shameless self promotion, on Youtube there is a Rick Grimes Tribute I made with this story called Rick Grimes Tribute: Over the Rainbow. Check it out if you want!**

* * *

Daryl had memorized the landscape like the back of his hand. He knew every hill and river, every abandoned road and run down building. He knew it all. For years he scoured the land, searching with an almost animalistic desperation for someone who would never be there again. Someone he had lost because of his damned pride. Michonne had blamed him and even after she apologized for her heated words, he never found it in himself to believe she was wrong.

He had done this. He had taken Rick and he had left him to die with a pathetic parting word of staying safe. As if this world could offer any safety. As if this world hadn't already taken so much. Rick Grimes was never supposed to die. Rick Grimes was steady and sure and a constant reminder that they could make it. They could and _would_ survive.

But he was gone, and Daryl was left with the crushing guilt that choked him like thick smoke. A burning self hatred that woke him from restless sleep.

 _'You did this. You led him to his death.'_

Finding his body could offer at least closure. A body or the worst case scenario, a walker that Daryl could put down and bring back to Michonne for burial. Bury him next to his boy. Daryl had to do that at least. He had to make up for it somehow, even if it would never be enough. Even if it would never reunite Judith with her father or allow R.J. to meet the man who had left a gaping hole in a community.

There were no signs of him. It was as if he had simply ceased to exist. Bodies of countless charred walkers had washed onto the riverbanks, but Rick was gone. Michonne had found his pistol and both of them had frantically searched the area, hoping that Rick would not be far. It proved to be useless. Rick was gone and there was nothing to bring back to Michonne.

There was nothing for Daryl to apologize to. He had gotten to say goodbye to Merle, no matter how painful and he had gotten to bring Beth back to Maggie, even if it was never how he had wanted it to be. He never had that chance with Rick, and Rick deserved so much better than to rot in some godforsaken river. More than anything, Daryl wanted to find his brother. He wanted to be able to put him to rest and in the back of his mind, clinging and refusing to let go, par of him hoped he never found him. He hoped, like a child that if he never found a body, it meant that Rick was still alive. Still out there and still capable of walking through those gates.

When a new threat raised up, Daryl was reluctant to leave his search, but he couldn't just hide forever. He owed it to his friends to help in anyway he could. With Maggie now gone off, it left him following Michonne once again. The Whisperers had proved themselves to be a whole new type of animal. Wearing the skin of the dead as if they were one with them. Jesus's death had been just another low blow. Death had become so standard, but it never got easier to look into their group and see a face missing. When that girl Lydia was taken captive, it was obvious that playing nice would get them nowhere. She was a threat. Just as Alpha was a threat and Daryl was not about to lose anyone else.

* * *

There were roughly 500 victims of the trafficking ring that were kept in the lab Rick had been imprisoned in. 500 people taken from their families and friends. 500 people that needed to be freed. Rick had become obsessed with freeing them. It couldn't just be him. They all needed to be freed. They all needed to be able to go _home_. Rick had managed to escape his holding cell twice after Anne's failed attempt to smuggle him out, but was caught because he wouldn't run. He always stayed, trying to get the others out.

When he was caught the second time, he was put into tighter security, monitored and picked at like an animal. His handlers had grown tired of his actions and in the heat of the moment as they had wrestled him back into the cell, one had broken his leg at the knee and it had never healed properly.

 _"He won't be needing his legs after we're done with him."_ The guard had snapped at the doctor as they berated him for _damaging_ the _asset_. He was not even a human to these people. Just another test subject. The _only_ test subject. The only **_human_** to survive a walkers' bite.

When Anne had fled into the night, he knew he was on his own but he had memorized the layout of the building. Had remembered the halls and how many steps were on the southern staircase. When the chance to free everyone finally came, Rick had grasped it and refused to let it go. He had faced countless monsters, both human and walker alike and this group was no different.

He found the escaped prisoners weeks after their escape, some had managed to find their way home and others like Rick were a continent away where they needed to be. So they joined together, hoping to find a way back to America.

One woman named Helen, who reminded him of an older Carol had told him that she had been with a community in Maine when she had been grabbed. She had been in the lab for two years.

"Took me right under the nose of my wife. She probably thinks I bailed." Helen had stated, dark eyes misty as she thought of her lost wife, a world away. He eventually reunited with Heath, an Alexandrian who had vanished during a run with Tara years ago. Something about seeing a single familiar face had both men in tears, hugging like long lost brothers.

"Should have figured it would have been you." Heath had muttered into his ear as they hugged. There was so much Heath had missed. Negan's arrival and Glenn's death, the fall of the Saviors and so much more, but Rick couldn't find it in himself to explain it all.

"We're goin' home, Heath," Rick replied, pulling away, hands grasping the younger mans' shoulders. "We're goin' back." Rick wanted to go _home_. He just wanted to be with his family again. He would make sure Helen, Heath and every other victim had that chance as well. It was another two weeks before their radio picked up a signal strong enough to reach across seas. Rick and the others had scrambled to set up the radio, desperate to reach out. After Rick's failed attempt to reach Alexandria before it had only made him that more desperate to try again.

"I reached Alexandria before, the signal was too weak, but I know we can reach out to them." Rick told Heath late one night as the group settled in to sleep. Heath regarded him with intense dark eyes.

"You think it will still be home? After all this time?" He asked. Rick thought of Michonne. He thought of Judith. He thought of Carol, Maggie and Daryl and he nodded. It would always be home.

"Home is where family is. By blood or bond."

* * *

 _"You sir are special."_

 _"I missed you."_

Negan hadn't been fucking around when he had said those things to Rick. Sure, he had been teasing and picking at weak spots, but there was no lie in the respect Negan held for Rick Grimes. The man had been special. He still was special. He wasn't dead. Negan refused to accept it. Rick Grimes didn't go down that easily. He was out there. He had to be. There couldn't be a world where Rick Grimes was dead. He had refused to accept it when Michonne told him. He could remember laughing and he could remember screaming. Screaming at her and at Rick to face him. He had been denied death by the Widow and now Rick had to be mocking him. He was just fucking with him and Negan was not fucking having it.

He waited for four days, refusing to sleep or eat, staring intently at the stairs and waiting for Rick to give up and walk down those steps. The basement offered little comfort and the mattress was worn far before Negan had taken it. Michonne had not returned and instead the pretty doctor had brought his meals and cared for him, silent and not looking at the man. Negan hadn't even bothered to pick at him, so focused on waiting for Rick's footsteps.

On the fourth night, when Michonne finally returned with his dinner, Negan couldn't keep quiet anymore. "How did it happen?" Negan's voice was like sandpaper and Michonne had cast a cold stare at him. There were bags under her eyes and a general dishevelment about her.

"That's none of your business." She coldly spat out. She was standing tense, as if the slightest push would send her spiraling.

"I know..." Negan didn't touch his food, having no appetite for the vegetables or lump of meat. He pushed the plate aside, careful not to spill anything. "I just...was it quick?"

Michonne thought he was fucking with her. Thought he hoped that Rick had suffered. Thought he wanted something to grasp at and hurt. She swiped the plate up, nostrils flaring and lips pulled into a snarl as she turned on her heel to leave. "No, don't leave!" Negan called after her, grasping at the bars and watching in dread as she stormed up the dusty stone steps and slammed the basement door behind her, leaving Negan alone.

Negan did not sleep that night.

"I don't know if it was quick." It was two days later when Michonne returned that she spoke. Negan had startled away from picking at his food, dark eyes lifting to stare at the woman, holding his breath and not daring to do or say anything that might send her away again. "One second he was standing there and the next everything was in flames," Michonne looked down at her hands, picking at a hangnail. "We were right there. We were so close to getting to him. He was bleeding...there was so much of it...I don't even know of he realized we were really there." Her eyes were glassy as she remembered.

"What happened?" Negan whispered. Michonne's eyes returned to him, seeming to mentally prepare herself.

"He found out Maggie was coming for you. He tried to reach out to her, tried to reach out to others to slow her down. Daryl offered him a ride from the campsite back to Alexandria, but took him further away to give Maggie more time. Ended up with them spotting a hoard of walkers and Rick staying behind to divert them..." Michonne crossed her arms over her chest and closed her eyes, deep in thought. Negan quietly waited for her to continue. "...We could have helped him but he never took that risk of letting them cross over. So he...so he shot at the dynamite on the bridge and ignited it." Negan stared for a long moment, still hoping against all odds that this was another fucked up joke. He knew better. He knew Rick would never walk down those steps again.

Six years later and that was still a topic Negan would not dare touch. The little angel had grown into a smart kid and eventually came to him. She reminded him of Carl, just a ballsy and fierce as her big brother had been. The Sheriffs' hat suited her just as it had suited Carl and just as it must have suited Rick before the world had turned on its' head.

Negan could only hope for one thing, if Rick had actually died that day. He hoped it had been quick.

* * *

Several houses down the street from Michonne's home was another house that Eugene had taken residence in. As Eugene slept for the evening the radio crackled and buzzed, muffled voices speaking and reaching out, but Eugene slept on, his snores and the static radio the only noises filling them small bedroom.


End file.
